Greetings, Echinoderm Recoils Into Conch---
Here is your horoscope for Monday, May 10, 2010 (Happy Monday! Was that a weekend, or what? (No, seriously. Was it? We have no idea. We have not even read Our Sunday paper yet. The New York Times crossword puzzle remains inviolate. (Not, however, in violet, which would probably imply a purple paper, which would be patently poppycock. (Since We’ve no doubt met at least once before, it will come as no surprise to you that, having typed the preceding, We went off to Google “poppycock” on Wikipedia. And here is what We found: “Poppycock – anglicized form of the Dutch pappekak, which literally means soft dung or diarrhea (from Dutch pap pap + kak dung) – is an interjection meaning "nonsense" or "balderdash". Poppycock is also a brand of candied popcorn.” (We couldn’t possibly make this sh1t (heh) up.))))
(Speaking of Sunday, since We stopped publishing Eric’s Daily Horoscope on Sundays (and Saturdays, for that matter Mad Hatter pancake batter (sorry…Tourette’s)), We have developed a backlog of religious pixtures Du Jour Au Jus Crème Brulee Robert Goulet Maurice Chevalier. So today’s is one. You’re welcome.)
(You may recall that, on Friday, We were off to the hinterlands to the theater to see Flaming Guns of the Purple Sage. This entailed leaving OurHouseWhereWeLive at 6PM, and returning at midnight, to see a play that lasted under two hours. And We didn’t even have a drink afterwards. However, We are very glad that We went, as Our MizMaryPat and MizDonna were hysterical in same, and a good time was had by all. Unfortunately for all y’all, said play has now closed, so you don’t get to see it. Nanny-nanny poo-poo.)
(Micro$oft Weird™ would like you to know that “Nanny-nanny poo-poo” is a sentence fragment. It would further like you to know that “poo-poo” is misspelled. Does Micro$oft Weird™ have its finger on the pulse, or what?)
(It occurs to Us that We have absolutely no idea what We did on Saturday. (It further occurs to Us, after a fortuitous typo, that Saturday might be more fun if it were (subjunctively) renamed “Satyrday”.))
(In other news, We are off this evening to rehearse the WaitStaff show in front of MizGerreGarrett’s sketch comedy class at Drexel. We have been somewhat less relentless than usual in Our peddling of this show, but, as the size of Our paycheck is tied to your attendance, that nonsense is about to stop. The show, you may recall, is called The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows, and it is happening on Sundays, May 16th and 23rd, at 7PM, and Wednesday and Thursday, May 19th and 20that 8PM at L'Etage Cabaret at 6th and Bainbridge Streets. You can get tickets here. The show’s theme is mothers, and, in addition to special guest appearances by some of the WaitStaff’s mothers, it also boasts returns of audience favorites Yuri (and PuppetYuri), Jesus and his mom, Mrs. MotherOfGod, and a Very Special Episode of The Real Housewives Of South Philly, in which We actually meet the Duchess’s mother. So get your tickets. NOW.)
(L’Etage Cabaret is upstairs from Creperie Beau Monde. It had never occurred to Us, until now, to look up what the h3ll does “L’Etage” mean in French. We suspected it was something marvelously Bohemian and maybe slightly decadent, like “when the lemur bends over, his anus winks at Us”. Turns out, it means “upstairs”. Who knew?)
(Our Our-O-Scope.)
Copying machines, washers and even carburetors that are too close to you now will voice their objections by breaking down at the very minute you close in on them. (So We are thinking perhaps We should avoid friends with pacemakers?)
Don't be frustrated. (Give Us a bl0wjob, and We won’t be.)
(Too crass? Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.)
The electricity you're putting out now is enough to intimidate an entire army. (Meanwhile, We’d settle for just one guy in uniform, and a peek at the general’s privates. (To say nothing of the private’s g3nitals.))
How can one poor little engine withstand that? (Clearly, you have never heard of The Little Engine That Could. )
You're attracted, but for the life of you, you can't figure out why. (I think I can, I think I can. Why? Because *I’ve* seen the private’s g3nitals.)
Think of this as a gift, and don't shake the box until it's time to open it. (See, right now, that sentence is only doubly amusing to Our fellow WaitStaffians. But when you come see Our show, it will be doubly funny to you, too.)
You're wired for sound, (And if you stick a microphone up Our @ss, you’ll hear Jimmy Hoffa hollering for help. Also, We’ll sweep the floor while We’re at it. Olga Korbut, ladies and gentlemen.)
and not feeling at all patient (Not even a little patient. (Hi, Maaaa!))
with anyone who's dragging their heels, (Insert drag joke here.)
especially if there's work to be done. (Don’t We have people for that?)
Here's a tip: to avoid confrontation, work alone. (Here’s a tip: don’t look a gift horse in the @ss; it might p00p on your face. Also, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, or there’ll be no room for the private’s g3nitals.)
(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:
http://www.humorscope.com
cowgrass…good to the last drop)
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